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personages on the other side of the Atlantic, 
of Macaulay for Mr. Carey, Wordsworth for 
Prof. R,ecd, Dr. Chalmers for Mr. Lenox, and 
others. Some of these he brought back finished 
on his return. They are, perhaps, the best of 
his productions. They have, as well as his works 
generally, a delicate mottling, an air of acci- 
dency in the touches of the cheek and the eye 
and about the temples, mouth and forehead. 
This artistic air of indecision arose from a skil- 
ful manipulation upon the impulse of the mo- 
ment. He could not easily repeat himself in 
it — much less could his imitators do it, and his 
copyists never. His pictures were thin in their 
painting, with but little impasto, and presented 
a smooth canvas. Many of his cabinet pieces 
are on a twilled ground, which adds in some de- 
gree to the air of conventionalism from which 
his works were not always free. Those who are 
familiar with them may also recollect a charac- 
teristic of his color, which might stand in lieu 
of his autograph. We refer to the liberal use 
of Prussian blue, which often pervaded his back- 
ground, and, from the diffusible nature of this 
very awkward pigment, sometimes got into his 
flesh. It would be a curious subject of study — 
the causes for the prevalence of some particular 
color in any artist's collected works. 

" Inman's landscapes and compositions, in point 
of touch, possess much neatness and complete- 
ness, but here again in color they are too drab- 
ish, and wanting in those fresh, nutritious tones 
of green which the landscape painter of all things 
exacts. It might be said, in explanation of these 
deficiencies, that his abilities, his relish for the 
picturesque and appreciation of the qualities of 
nature in the works of others, tempted him to 
undertake pictures of this sort under circum- 
stances in which no other man would have 
thought of it. He painted us a closet landscape. 
He was so tied down by his peculiar branch of 
the profession, that he had no opportunity for 
the study of out-door nature. But with all this, 
his admirable execution made an excellent thing 
out of his recollections and his mere feeling of 
pastoral and rural charms. He prided himself 
on his sensibility to the beauties of chiaro-scuro, 
in which the law of subordination and of varie- 
ty were among the points he was always illus- 
trating to those about him. His sketches were 
generally well wrought up and carefully hatched 
in pen and ink. Of these there are many beau- 
tiful examples in the albums of his friends. He 
also excelled in the use of the crayon, one ex- 
ample of which is an admirable colossal head of 
himself, in the possession of Mr. McMurtrie, of 

" Immediately after the funeral of Mr. Inman, 
a meeting of his friends was held, at which it 
was determined to open an exhibition of as many 
of his works as could be conveniently collected, 
for the benefit of his widow and children. Such 
an exhibition was accordingly arranged at the 
rooms of the American Art-Union, No. 322 
Broadway, that association having offered the 
gratuitous use of their Gallery for the purpose. 
O-De hundred and twenty-six paintings were ob- 
tained in a short time, and the exhibition opened 
on the 10th day of February, 1846. The public 
and the press responded liberally to the call ; 
and the managers, on the 13th of April follow- 
ing, had the gratification of sending the net pro- 
ceeds to Mrs. Inman, amounting to about two 
thousand dollars. 


This celebrated work of the great German 
poet and scholar has been regarded, ever since 
it was first published in 1764, as one of the most 
valuable treatises in the literature of Art. It 
is an attempt to distinguish the limits of Poetry 
and Painting, by a comparison of the differences 
in subject and treatment proper to each ; and it 
takes its name from the group which is princi- 
pally referred to in it for illustration. The 
story of Laocoon, having been used both by Vir- 
gil in poetry and by some great artist of anti- 
quity in sculpture, with many differences in 
treatment, presented a convenient example for 
the author's purpose ; having made it, he says, 
his " starting point, and recurred repeatedly to 
it," he " thought it fitting to give the name a 
place on his title-page." But in the course of 
the essay many other works are of coarse re- 
ferred to ; and, indeed, the scope of the whole is 
so broad and so elaborated and enriched with va- 
rious learning, that the name is more fanciful 
than appropriate. 

By " Painting," he states in the outset, he 
desires to be understood, " the Arts of Design, 
in all their departments." He would also use 
the word "Poetry" in a similarly extended 
sense, to " designate those Arts in general whose 
imitation consists in the progressive principle." 

The great value of the work to artists is in 
the clearness and acuteness with which it points 
out the limits of the two Arts, and serves as a 
guide to good taste in the choice of subjects for 
pictures and their composition. Beyond the 
principle that " Time is the sphere of the Poet, 
and Space that of the Painter," and a few simi- 
lar maxims, the author does not attempt to gene- 
ralize ; he forms no system, like that of Allston, 
in which all principles have their places in har- 
monious dependence ; his twenty-nine sections, 
or at least more than half of them, have very 
little consecutiveuess ; and the whole work is of 
that kind which rather enriches the mind with 
new and striking thoughts, than enlarges its 
powers by the introduction of new and compre- 
hensive ideas. But for variety of suggestion, 
subtlety, learning — all those qualities which in- 
spire true enthusiasm for Art and for knowledge, 
the work is probably one of the most delightful 
ever written. To read it is like strolling through 
a vast picture gallery, where, at every, step, we 
are arrested by something that awakens our ad- 
miration, more for its own sake than for its con- 
nection with what is beside it ; and we lay the 
book down with an impression such as we expe- 
rience in leaving such a gallery — a confused 
sense of pleasure, and a desire to return to it 
again, but retaining only a few distinct images 
out of the many that had so charmed us. 

Our author begins by showing that the ex- 
pression of pain by tears and shrieks was con- 
sidered by the ancient Greeks as perfectly 
compatible with grandeur and elevation of soul. 
Hence he argues : " It follows that it could not 
have been from the fear of diminishing this ele- 
vation of character that the artist refrained 
from tracing on his marble the outward indica- 
tions' of painful shrieks. He must, then, have 
had some other motive for departing, in this in- 
stance, from the line adopted by the poet, who 
has chosen deliberately to express those shrieks." 

Secondly, the primary law of the Arts with 
the ancients was Beauty. All expression was 
kept subordinate to this. In the Laocoon the 

sculptor had to represent beauty under circum- 
stances of bodily pain ; " a combination which 
it would have been impossible to effect, had the 
latter been depicted in all its hideous violence. 
His only alternative, then, was to mitigate its 
vehemence, to soften down the shrieks of agony 
into a sigh." Had he represented him, as the 
poet has done, shrieking, with his mouth wide 
open, we should have been repelled and dis- 

Again, the artist is confined to a single point 
of time ; and he must choose a moment which 
shall leave scope to the fancy, and shall admit 
of our believing it permanent. Hence violent 
and transitory emotions arc not to be given with 
truth and expression. A painted laugh is a 
grimace. The Laocoon sighs, that we may hear 
him shriek. 

The range of the poet, however, is unlimited : 
he is not confined to a single moment, nor to the 
expression of beauty. Wherever (this we take 
to be Lessing's meaning, though he does not 
quite reach it,) the emotion of the piece requires 
it, and the music of his verse will bear the 
reader over it, the poet may, with safety, de- 
scribe or place in the mouths of his ideal person- 
ages the language of bodily suffering. The 
truth is, there is a beauty which is a primary 
law of poetry, as much as in the arts of design. 
But it is of a different kind — a musical beauty. 
And this requires the poet to " use all gently," 
and " in the very torrent, tempest, and whirl- 
wind of his passion, to acquire and beget a tem- 
perance that may give it smoothness," as really 
as the artist is governed by the beauty of form 
and harmony of color. 

Lcssing next examines the probabilities as to 
whether, " in the composition of the group of 
the Laocoon, the artist imitated the poet, or the 
poet the artist, and concludes in favor of the 
first supposition. The poet just allows the mo- 
ment the artist has chosen, when the three 
bodies are united in one knot, to be felt : he does 
not describe it. The shrieks the artist could 
not copy. The poet leaves the arms of the prin- 
cipal figure free, and in this the sculptor could 
follow him ; but in nothing further. 

" Virgil," says Lessing, " describes the snakes 
as folded twice round the waist and the neck of 
Laocoon, and stretching out their heads high 
above him : — 

" Twice round his waist their winding volumes roll'd, 
And twice about his gasping throat they fold. 
The priest thus doubly choked — their crests divide, 
And towering o'er his head in triumph ride." 

What a striking picture is this ! The noblest 
parts of the body are compressed even to suffo- 
cation, and the reptiles are just preparing to 
dart their venom in the very face of their vic- 
tim; yet, striking as the picture is, it is not 
one which could be adopted by the artist, whose 
object was to delineate the operation of the 
poison and of the pain upon the body. In order 
to give proper effect to this, it became necessary 
to leave the most important parts as unincum- 
bered as possible, and to allow no external pres- 
sure to influence them so as to change and 
weaken the play of the suffering nerves and 
laboring muscles. The double folds of the 
serpents would have concealed the waist alto- 
gether ; and that painful contraction of the 
abdomen, in which so much expression lies, 
would have been entirely lost to the eye. What- 
ever portion of the waist might have been seen 




above, beneath, or between the convolutions, 
would have been accompanied by swellings and 
depressions, caused, not by the internal pain, 
but by the external pressure. Again, the 
double winding round the throat would entirely 
have destroyed the pyramidal character of the 
group, which is so agreeable to the sight ; 
while the heads of the snakes, issuing from the 
protuberance, and projecting detached into the 
open air, would have looked so disproportional 
in size, as to render the effect of the whole ex- 
ceedingly offensive to the sight. In spite of 
these objections, however, some artists have 
actually been so unwise as to adhere to the 
poet's description. " The ancient sculptors saw 
at once that their art demanded in this instance 
a totally different treatment. They transferred 
all the foldings of the serpents from the waist 
and the throat to the legs and the feet, where, 
however much they might compress and conceal 
the parts, they could not interfere with the ex- 
pression. This arrangement likewise serves to 
suggest the idea of the arrested flight of the vic- 
tims, and of a certain immobility in the groupe, 
which materially assists the artificial perman- 
ence of the situation." 

Furthermore, the supposition that the artist 
took his subject from the poet is not derogatory 
to the genius of the former, since the alterations 
show the excellence of his judgment. It does 
not follow that every image of the descriptive 
poet should produce a good effect on canvas or 
marble. Both Arts address the imagination, it 
is true, but each does it in a different way. In 
poetry the images exist only in the mind, and 
are not bodied forth visibly. Besides, in all 
true poetry, except " didactic poetry," which is", 
as Lessing truly remarks, " no poetry at all," 
the soul is upborne upon the wings of emotion — 
the musical element — and its images flit through 
the fancy in the formless shapes of dreams ; we 
do not stop to perfect them and make them stand 
forth in clear outlines, 

Where, as often happens, the poet and the 
artist look upon a subject from precisely the 
same point of view, there may be a coincidence 
in the mode of treatment without either's imi- 
tating the other. As for instance, where both 
are representing Venus in her ideal character 
as simply the Goddess of Love. But then the 
poet is not confined to this. He may represent 
her as inflamed with rage and fury ; with him 
she is an individual as well as the personifica- 
tion of an abstract idea. Not so with the artist. 
The smallest departure from the ideal will pre- 
vent us from recognising her. She may be all 
beautiful ; but if she show more majesty than 
modesty, she will be Juno ; or if she appear a 
little haughty and masculine, she will be mis- 
taken for Minerva. 

" It is true that in compositions the artist as 
well as the poet may represent Venus or any 
other divinity as a really active being as well 
as an abstract personification. But, in that 
case, the actions of such divinities must at 
least not be in opposition to their character, 
if indeed they do not naturally arise out of it. 
Venus arming her son is an action which the 
artist may portray as well as the poet. There 
is nothing here to prevent his endowing her with 
all the grace and beauty which belong to her as 
the Goddess of Love ; nay, this particular situ- 
ation will rather serve to render her more re- 
cognisable in his work. But Venus taking ven- 
geance on the men of Lemnos for their insult — 
descending in fury on a dark cloud, with a black 
robe drawn around her, and a torch in her hand 

— her features fierce and swollen, her cheeks 
flushed, and her hair dishevelled, is not a sub- 
ject for an artist, because it presents no traits 
which would lead the spectator to recognise the 
fair divinity. This is a situation for the poet 
alone, by whom it may be so closely connected 
with another, in which Venus may appear en- 
tirely in her own peculiar character, that even 
while we behold the fury we do not lose sight of 
the Goddess of Love." 

The poet, in describing allegorical personages, 
need not give the symbols by which we know 
them when we sec them. He need not put a 
bridle in the hand of Temperance, make Pru- 
dence lean upon a column, or put a balance in 
the hands of Justice. Only where the symbols 
are instruments without which the personages 
could not perform the acts ascribed to them, as 
the lyre in the hands of a Muse, the lance of 
Mars, and the hammers and pincers of Vulcan. 
But to the artist all such symbols arc necessary ; 
they supply the place of names and qualities 
with the poet. 

When the poet imitates the painter, that is, 
makes his work the subject of a scene, he is 
obliged to copy servilely. But it is not so when 
the painter takes a scene from the poet. Less- 
ing thinks the reason of this to be that with the 
artist execution seems to be more difficult than 
invention. But surely what he would style " ex- 
ecution" is only another kind of invention. He 
instances the composer of a landscape from 
Thomson as having performed a higher task than 
one who has copied a scene directly from nature. 
" The latter," he says, " has the original imme- 
diately before his eyes ; the former must exert 
the powers of his imagination until he fancies 
he sees it before him. The one produces a beau- 
tiful imitation of distinct and palpable linea- 
ments ; the other has to arrange a discretionary 
effect from faint and fleeting images." But 
whence come those images, it might be asked, 
save through the power of invention ? The poet 
invented the hint ; the artist invents a. form. 

Lessing then ridicules the practice in paint- 
ing, admissible in poetry, of representing invisi- 
ble beings by the interposition of a cloud. 

He then proceeds to show that in Homer, 
where there is minute description of scenes and 
actions, it is generally out of the province of 
painting to embody them ; and that, on the other 
hand, passages in which but little description is 
introduced, frequently present fine subjects for 
painting. He gives, for example, the Council of 
the Gods, which is described in four simple 

The Paradise Lost he thinks very barren of 
subjects for pictures; but our galleries would 
hardly confirm this judgment. It is true, how- 
ever, that the treatment required must be very 
different from that suggested by Homer. But, 
he argues, very ingeniously, " the Paradise 
Lost is no less the first epic poem, after Homer, 
though it yields but few pictures, than the his- 
tory of the sufferings of Christ is unfit to be 
called a poem, though we can scarcely place the 
head of a needle on any part of it without hit- 
ting on some passage which has given employ- 
ment to a host of the greatest artists." Poet- 
ical pictures, in brief, are not necessarily such 
as may be converted into material ones, and 
vice versa. 

This brings our author to one of his principal 
conclusions, which he offers as a text for the ap- 
plicability of poetical subjects for painting, viz. : 
that Time is the sphere of the Poet, Space that 

of the Painter. The painter cannot represent 
progressive actions ; he can only use a single 
moment, and intimate what has gone before, and 
what is to follow. The aim with him should be 
to select, as far as possible, that instant which 
is at once expressive of the past and pregnant 
with the future. 

" The union of two necessarily distinct points 
of time in one and the same picture, — as for in- 
stance, when Fra Mazzuoli represents the Rape 
of the Sabine women on the same canvas with 
their reconciliation to their husbands and kin- 
dred, or when Titian gives in one piece the whole 
story of the Prodigal Son, his dissolute life, his 
misery and his repentance, — is an encroachment 
made by the painter on the territory of the poet, 
of which good taste can never approve-" 

Yet the mutual relation of the two arts is like 
the rational policy of two friendly states, which, 
while they forbid actual encroachment, permit 
a little indulgence on their extreme borders. 
Thus, in a large historical composition, the 
moment may be a little protracted. In such 
works, where a great number of figures are in- 
troduced, there is probably no instance of a 
composition in which each actor bears the pre- 
cise situation and attitude which would have 
belonged to him at the moment of the principal 
action. Some figures may be brought forward, 
others thrown into the distance, whereby they 
may be made to take a more or less immediate 
share in the action. 

Lessing here refers to a criticism of Mengs on 
the Draperies of Raphael, showing how he man- 
ages to unite two moments by so arranging them 
as to exhibit the previous motion of the limbs. 
This he considers an artifice, though an allowable 
one. •' For," he observes, " since the foot, in 
moving forward, immediately draws along with 
it that part of the drapery which rests upon it, 
it is evident that, unless the cloth be formed of 
some material so stiff as to be quite unfit for 
painting, at no single moment of its passage 
could it form any fold in the smallest degree 
different from that which the actual position of 
the limb requires ; otherwise, we should have 
the drapery in its former and the limb in its 
latter state." In this remark, we cannot but 
think that our author, with all his acuteness, 
has overlooked the circumstance that there are 
a great variety of motions to which it would be 
inapplicable. For instance, where the figure is 
drawn as having just suddenly turned, the dra- 
pery would naturally be seen following the 
movement — not turning at the same instant with 
the figure, but coming after. To paint this, 
would certainly be no encroachment upon the 
limits of poetry, for the artist has a legitimate 
claim upon all that he can bring within the 
compass of his moment as actually visible. 

The remaining sections of the Laocoon carry 
out somewhat discursively, but with no lack of 
elaboration, the principles already announced. 
As an instance of poetry's encroaching on paint- 
ing, Homer's use of epithets, as " the smooth, 
beautiful, brazen, embossed shield," is cited, 
where the poet struggles to give his description 
the instantaneousness of vision. 

We then have an argument drawn chiefly 
from the description of the shield of Achilles, to 
show that the ancients were unacquainted with 

It is next shown why the poet cannot minutely 
delineate corporeal beauty, which springs from 
the harmonious effect of multifarious parts, 
which the eye surveys at one and the same 




instant. Homer uses but one epithet, " divine," 
to describe the beauty of Helen. But he im- 
presses us with an idea of her beauty by other 
means, which, it is shown, arc within the poet's 
peculiar province. He makes the ciders express 
no surprise on beholding her, that she had kept 
the world so long in arms ; but Zeuxis, in illus- 
trating the passage, painted her simply unrobed 
and alone. 

Deformity may be introduced into poetry, but 
not into painting; in the former it is modified 
by the successive detail of its parts ; in the lat- 
ter it stands forth in all its hideousness, and 
the spectator is disgusted. 

After the section illustrating this, the work 
concludes with some others upon the probable 
author of the statue of Laocoou, and a critique 
of Wincklcman. We have endeavored to give as 
complete an idea of its character as was possible 
in a brief article. Of course the analysis is ex- 
tremely meagre. From the peculiar fulness of 
the few paragraphs quoted, it may be readily 
imagined how meagre. We shall hope, however, 
that we may have done s»me service in calling 
the attention of artists and lovers of Art-lite- 
rature to a work so abounding in subtle and phi- 
losophical criticism. G. w. p. 


The vast concentration at Paris of every kind 
of artistic material — the habits of the French 
people themselves — the resources for economical 
living — the entire independence and absence of 
restraint on the part of every well-behaved 
foreigner — render that city one of the most 
delectable places for an Artist in the world. 
The student may there follow the life he prefers, 
whether in the extremes of reckless freedom at 
the Bal Masque or Jardin Mabille, or at the 
Lectures of the Academy of Sciences, the quiet 
of the Louvre, or in deep research amidst the 
labyrinths of strange lore in the Biblioth£que 

If Rome has the solemn grandeur of antiquity 
to hallow and sanctify it, Paris is the laboratory 
of modern Science, as well as the pioneer in 
modern civilization. If, in the former, the 
student finds amid the monuments and vast gal- 
leries of Greek, Christian, or Papal Art, — amid 
the ruins and sloth of that decaying city, works 
whose effect is to transport him as in a dream 
backward through ages to Etruria and Greece, — 
in the latter he identifies himself with the latest 
impulses of humanity, and feels, while the Past 
is rendered sacred by her treasured relics, that 
the Future may become, through the vital power 
of the Present, even more beautiful and more 
true. If, in Rome, the gray quiet of the Past 
leaves him undisturbed to pursue his studies, 
so, in Paris, he may shut himself in his atelier, 
where the din of insurrection or revolution may 
not come, and, in the calm of settled purpose, 
prepare for the mission be believes himself called 
to fill. 

As there is every species and variety of Art 
in Paris, from miserable one centime lithographs 
up to the elaborate engravings after the works 
of De la Roche, Ingres, and Scheffer, so there 
are as many ways and means of pursuing studies 
in the different departments. We shall, however, 
confine ourselves to such information as may 
prove useful to Artists going from this country 
to Paris. 

The Louvre, witli its immense galleries of 

paintings and statuary, contains one of the finest 
collections in the world. Beginning with the 
works of Mantegna and Perugino, and terminat- 
ing with the Carraci, the Italian masters are 
very well represented. Titian, Paul Veronese, 
Giorgione, Tintoretto, Corrcgio, Da Vinci, Ra- 
phael, Andrea del Sarto, Giulio Romano, Do- 
menichino, Guido Reni, are all recalled to mind 
by their works, and, in some instances, by splen- 
did specimens. There are, also, some of the 
largest and finest works by Rubens and Rem- 

Of the early French school, the works of Le 
Brun, Le Sueur, and Nicholas Poussin are col- 
lected in great numbers. In the eastern .wing 
are the works of David, Gericault, Girodet, 
Gros, Geurin, Watteau, Boucher, Greuze, and 
Martin Drolling. Following the suite of rooms 
containing these works, on the north side, there 
is a Museum of Egyptian Antiquities. Passing 
the apartments of Henry II., we come at once 
to the Spanish pictures, by Murillo, Spagnoletto, ( 
Velasquez, &c. Then follow several large rooms, 
filled with drawings in crayons, pastels, pen and 
pencil, by nearly all the masters, ancient and 

On the ground floor of this immense edifice are 
the Statue Galleries. These contain the famous 
Venus di Milo, the Fighting Gladiator, and the 
Diana. In the collection of casts, which is one 
of the best in the world, are the Elgin Marbles 
and the Barb rini Faun. 

The offices of the Director of the Fine Arts 
and his functionaries are in the court-yard, near 
the grand entrance. In order to gain admission, 
it is only necessary to present your passport, 
stating that you are an American Artist, and 
wish permission to study in the Galleries, where- 
upon, without question, a permit is given you, 
good for three months, at the end of which time 
it must be renewed by the same process. You 
have only to carry with you canvas, colors, 
palette and brushes, the Government providing 
easels, chairs, and what other things may be 
necessary for your operations. It is customary 
to give the overseer of the section or room in 
which you work a few francs when you begin or 
finish. The doors open at eight, A. M., and 
close at four, P. M. The whole is closed to stu- 
dents on Sundays and Mondays. 

Ateliers are to be found principally in the 
quarter of the Luxembourg, Faubourg du Roule, 
Le Quartier de Tivoli, Rue Pigal, near the 
Barriere, Quai Voltaire, &c. Generally, they 
have a room, or suite of rooms, attached, where 
the Artist lives era gar f on or en famille, accord- 
ing as he may be single or a man of family. The 
rents for ateliers range from $'C0 to $200 a year, 
depending upon their situations and conve- 
niences. The concierge, or person who attends to 
your atelier and rooms, expects from $1 to $3 
per month. You have your breakfast served in 
your rooms, or take it at a cafe, and dine at a 
restaurant. For knowledge of these places, you 
must depend upon some one living in Paris, as 
they change from time to time, or new ones are 
established, better than the old. It is well to be 
located, if possible, between the Louvre and the 
Luxembourg, that both may be convenient ; the 
former contains the works of deceased Artists — 
the latter, those of the living. 

There are always a number of ateliers or 
schools in Paris. But, generally, there are one 
or two more popular than the others ; indeed, 

this runs sometimes into a mania — so much so, 
that for months you hear nothing from les rapins 
ilea ateliera but the most unqualified boasting of 
the merits and power of the popular Artist over 
all others Some fifteen years ago, the great 
atelier in Paris was that of Baron Gros. When 
he died, Paul De la Roche became the leader, 
and had, at one time, two hundred pupils. Then 
Coignet exhibited a finely colored picture, the 
subject, Tintoretto painting a Likeness of his 
Daughter from the Corpse, and immediately all 
the young men of Paris rushed to him for in- 
struction in color. A few years later, M. Cou- 
ture exhibited his grand picture, Les Romains 
de la Decadence, which was bought by the 
French Government. It was so original in sub- 
ject, method of composition, and particularly in 
style of coloring, that he was acknowledged at 
once a master, and in a short time had his atelier 
filled with pupils. He is an excellent instructor. 
He has the natural gift of imparting, with faci- 
lity, through happy and forcible illustrations, 
drawn always from his observations of nature, 
everything the student requires to direct him to 
the most proper and efficient study of natural 
objects. He has a contempt for processes, and 
teaches always the necessity of painting, at once, 
au premier coup. M. Couture prefers his pupils 
to have mastered the rudiments of drawing be- 
fore they enter his atelier, as it leaves him to 
teach them solely how to paint. No Artist in- 
sists upon the necessity of fine drawing more 
strenuously than he, and he constantly refers 
his pupils to the study of the grandest antique 
statues, he himself having studied for years 
severely the Elgin Marbles. 

The present most popular atelier among the 
French for drawing is kept by M. Picot, a ser- 
vile teacher of all the academic rules of draw- 
ing. There are also others, one kept by M. 
Suisse, which is republican in its government, 
everybody pursuing his own method or style, or 
not, as he pleases. M. Suisse was formerly a 
great model in Paris, and, becoming too old to 
serve longer in that line, he fitted up a room 
with conveniences for drawing, and now main- 
tains himself in this way. The entrance fee is 
about five dollars a month. M. Picot's instruc- 
tions are somewhat more expensive. The ate- 
lier of M. Couture is maintained on the prin- 
ciple of communism — that is, all the apparatus 
for painting or studying— such as easels, chairs, 
drawing-boards, stools — are common stock, and 
belong to the pupils. The entrance fee here is 
thirty francs, or six dollars for the first and 
twenty francs for each succeeding month — the 
extra ten francs of the first entitling you to the 
use and ownership of all the apparatus in the 
atelier ; the twenty francs per month pay model 
hire and atelier rent. With all this, M. Couture 
has nothing to do. He comes once a day, ordin- 
arily about ten o'clock, to the atelier, and criti- 
cises each student's work, at the same time 
advising him clearly and judiciously how to see 
nature truly, and how to improve his faults. 

The time occupied in these ateliers is always 
with reference to the hours at which the Louvre 
opens and closes. M. Suisse's is a night school ; 
so that persons who draw there have the whole 
day for work in the Galleries of the Louvre. In 
the day schools, the models are posed at seven, 
A.M., and finished at twelve, noon. The stu- 
dent then repairs to the Louvre, and continues 
his labor in studying the works of the Old